


An Arrangement

by AllTheWayMae



Series: Blyla and Fam [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Blyla, Brothers are sometimes assholes, Cuddling, Drunken Shenanigans, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Nudity, Watch out because Fox is annoyed, a bit of fun, brothers being brothers, ignoring work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:33:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26722204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllTheWayMae/pseuds/AllTheWayMae
Summary: "Fox...he, uh, has an arrangement..."Some of the men have a little too much fun on leave and cause trouble at 79's, so Bly and Aayla have to interrupt a promising night in to go fetch them.[Aayla gets to meet Fox.  She isn't sure he approves of her, but maybe.]*And now with a follow-up Chapter 2, in which Bly and Fox grab that drink (or drinks)*
Relationships: CC-5052 | Bly/Aayla Secura
Series: Blyla and Fam [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1944805
Comments: 7
Kudos: 124





	1. The Arrangement

**Author's Note:**

> Working on Aayla meeting all the bros

* * *

As it turns out, being naked makes paperwork much more tolerable. 

Bare legs tangled with a lover’s. Leaning into the warmth of one another’s skin. Grinning. Sharing a kiss if a report happens to recount a particularly exhilarating tidbit from a recent fight. All these things take off the edge of the mundane business. 

Aayla would share this scintillating piece of advice with her fellow Generals but, alas: decorum. 

“Bly!” 

Then again, she may have forgotten her own sense of proprietary long ago. Misplaced it on a battlefield somewhere, perhaps. 

“Hmm?” comes the muffled reply from under the sheet. 

“That...tickles,” she’s rue to admit this, for it feels like a contest lost - never mind she was only battling herself. 

It’s his stubble. He’s neglected shaving for a few days, and now as his chin prickles across her flank she is convinced he’s done it just to torment her. 

“Yeah?” he sounds curious; innocent, even. 

But then his breath dances down her flank, making her twitch ...and his shoulders shake. He laughs. He knows what he’s doing and he’s laughing right in front of her face. She can feel his deep, spinning smugness.

And, oh _,_ that irks her. 

Definitely tormenting.

_Humf_. 

“What’s that sound for?” his mouth leaves the dip of her waist long enough for his question to be clear. 

“We have work to do...we agreed we’d still finish it tonight..”

They had. They’d promised...not that anyone asked for said vow.  It's just that they’d each felt a smidgen of guilt postponing duty, so they assured themselves they’d get right back at it. 

In the buzz of relief that always permeates the ship at the beginning of planetary leave, they’d been inspired to take a little break from reviewing reports. A _sexy_ break. A throughly _satisfying_ sexy break.

That break is over, now. 

They'd returned to the work... but it seems distraction calls him again. For all that nude paperwork has been great fun, it may or may not be the most efficient system. 

“Mmhmm,” he acknowledges her statement as fact and scrapes his way toward her hip.

Meanwhile he’s shifting around and nudging her legs apart to make proper room for his bulk, and Aayla lets her lower half go pliant so he can get comfortable. 

It’s not like she _wants_ to stare at reports... 

And they _do_ have hours left before today becomes tomorrow…

She sighs. 

He grins against the outside of her thigh. 

“Well, you’re the one who stopped reading the breakdown,” his hand crawls out from the sheet to reach along her arm and tap blindly at her datapad. “Go on…” 

He sounds quite satisfied with himself. It’s deep and warm, but it’s also something of a challenge... 

_This man_. 

Aayla is grinning - she can’t help that. She screws determination onto her face anyway and resolves to win. 

“You’re not paying attention...” 

He nips at her in retribution. 

“Sure I am,” he promises before kissing the intimate seam of her hip. 

She shivers despite her resolve. Swallows so she’ll sound herself.

“I’m --” she shivers again when he drags a calloused finger over the same strip of skin. “I’m serious…” 

Her voice ends a little too airily to be taken seriously. 

“So’m I,” he licks his way across her abdomen without any apparent care in the world, now. “Let’s work, General…I’m all ears…” 

Funny because his attention seems focused on her navel for the moment. 

...and Aayla weighs just tossing her data tablet aside. She could give into the moment _again_ and see where Bly’s mind wants to take them. She could explore all the lines of his many tattoos - a new hobby she may never tire of. Those are all things she could do right this moment… 

“You’re a rotten liar,” she scolds him anyway. 

Because she can. 

Because she wants to tease. 

Because she wants to see him _smile_. 

Sure enough, Bly chuffs at the accusation and flips the rumpled sheet aside so he can pin her with dark eyes to insist: 

“I not lying”

_Got him._ Aayla cocks her head at an angle she knows he can read at “ _oh really?_ ” . 

“I’ll have you know,” he shoves himself up onto his knees with a grunt. “I have great echoic memory _and_ I can multitask … ...I’ve got the test scores to prove it.”

He’s smirking when he delivers this information, though the reminder of his training and design makes Aayla start. Blink. It isn’t as though she could ever forget, being surrounded by so many clones and all. Bly is just so ... _Bly_.

But now isn’t the time for that. 

“...and is this the intended application of that skill?” she eyes him up and down, from his cropped hair to his bared, muscled thighs. 

Bly laughs. 

Laughs in a way he isn’t always willing - or able - to. It’s more than enough to tempt Aayla to go ahead and forget every single thing she’d ever learned about her datapad ...or any electronic device, really. She’ll plead temporary amnesia to Admiral Kallea later... _much_ later…

“I sure hope so,” he continues to grin, and he practically thrums with content - something thick and solid that Aayla feels resonating down in her chest. 

Then he drops forward onto his palms so he can hover above her chest. 

“...hmm… …” she measures his gaze. “I’m not convinced your focus is actually split right now.” 

“Not distracted at all, sir,” his report is a clipped, militaristic tone even as his eyes stay trained on her ...well, parts of her which are unrelated to the military or the Republic.

And Aayla does _not_ giggle at that. 

But she does snort, and that isn’t a whole lot better, professionally speaking. 

“So come on,” he urges even as he drops to hold his weight on his forearms. “Keep talking about equipment integrity” -- he pauses only to dip his head and rake his teeth over the swell of her breast-- “and surveillance lag.” 

Show off... 

“I --”

**_Bzeep_. **A comm on Aayla’s desk chirps, and she lifts her head to eye which one is lit up.

“That’s you,” she spots his vambrace. 

“Mmf,” Bly’s groans “Can’t be dire.”

They are on leave, after all. 

**_Bzeep_**

His shoulders slump and he plops his forehead onto her sternum. He is thinking, she knows. Calculating _who_ could want _what_ when he’s less than 8 hours into leave. 

“I’m sure it’s --”

**_Bzeep_**

**_Bzeep_ **

He lets his weight go limp. 

“...someone must agree you ought to be working,” Aayla goads, which feels good. 

Not as nice as his mouth on her skin, maybe, but still warm and buoyant. Everything feels lighter on leave. Sex. Cuddles. Teasing. Paperwork. All of it at once. 

“I hate them”

She laughs, full and round. 

“It could be anyone. 

“Hate ‘em anyway...”

**_Bzeep_**

“Abso-fucking-lutely unbelievable,” his voice fills with gravel and he thrusts himself backward so he can twist off the bed. 

He keeps his manners just long enough to toss the sheet back over her, a bare protection against the cool, recycled air on the ship. Then he’s _stomping_ to the desk. 

Aayla is sorry he’s upset but not so sorry for the view. Geometric lines of ink cut along his muscled back in an organized but aesthetically pleasing way. A couple lines lead straight down his spine and past his waist to trail off on his glutes, which are ... _well_. Bly doesn’t take compliments with a lot of grace, so she hasn’t told him with words that his ass is -ahem- appealing ...but the thick muscles there have gotten a firm bite or two from her, so she believes he’s gotten the message all the same. 

She smirks at the memories.

Meanwhile, Bly hisses a heated “fuck me!” and Aayla swallows the pithy “gladly!” retort that springs to mind so she can sit up concerned, instead. 

“Problem?” 

It wasn’t as if Coruscant never saw its share of shit hitting the planetary fan. 

_‘Osik_ ’ as the men might say. She’s picking up bits of the mando’a slang they’d adopted from a few of their trainers back on Kamino. 

“There’s _going_ to fucking be - asswipes, every last one of them!” Bly tosses his vambrace back down to the desk before scooping the top of his blacks off the floor. “The _balls_ …”

“Who?” Aayla watches Bly find and step into his briefs; he pulls up bottom blacks, too, before she tries again. “Bly?... ...who? Which asswipes are we fighting?” 

He pauses his redressing to grin, a small and lop-sided but genuine thing. 

“No one,” is his answer. “I’ll take care of it.” 

Really isn’t the best liar, her Bly. 

“Mhmm. Sure. Take care of who?” 

He tuts behind his teeth. 

“Galle. Ink. Zig - couple fuckin’ shinies … ...had a little too much fun at 79’s, I guess.” 

Aayla throws her shoulders into her sigh to convey all the required annoyance. It isn’t unheard of and goddess knows the men deserve to blow off steam ...but the kind of leave fun that ends in a jail cell is more trouble than a simple hangover, and it’s a lot more paperwork. _Thank you very much_. 

“I’ll come, too,” she offers. “I can probably help with the Blues…”

Coruscant Security Forces, designated in blue blast vests, can be prickly when it comes to clones -whether because of bigotry or good old fashion pissing contest really just depends on the day. Soldiers, Bly included, aren’t known for backing down, so the tension ...could get _heated_. If military rank doesn’t mean anything to whoever is on duty at the main station tonight, maybe Jedi designation will shake them into hurrying ...or, better yet, forgoing charges altogether.

Aayla can hope. 

“Oh, uh….they’re not with CSF”

“No? Then what’s wrong?” 

“...they’re with Fox”

Oh good goddess. Surely not. 

“...Commander Fox?” Aayla’s jaw drops and she sits back down on the bed’s edge. 

“Uh-huh,” his eyes roll high. 

_Force_. No wonder he’s upset. If the Royal Guard had picked the boys up, then. Ugh. _What in the galaxy_ made them go to the Senate to … to ...to what?

Alcohol is quite the influencer, she well knows. 

“What did they do?” 

Best to hear it now. Just go ahead and rip the bacta patch in private where she can react whichever way she needs to. 

Bly just scoffs in dramatic fashion. 

“I’ll take care of it”

“No, I’m still coming,” Aayla can’t leave him to this mess solo, Marshal Commander or not. “ _Why_ were they at the Senate making trouble?” 

He pauses in his attempt to step into his boots. His signature sparkles, puzzled. 

“Huh? ...Oh! No, it’s not like that. Fox...he, uh, has _an arrangement_.” 

Aayla considers. She has never heard of CSF and the Royal Guard _playing nice_ by design - the opposite, if anything. Then again, she doesn’t have a permanent post here on Coruscant, so she would not be the first to know about any truce or deal.

“So he... bailed them out?” 

“Bailed... ? No,” Bly finally stops snapping on his shin guards to stand up. “An arrangement with 79s - he knows some of the staff. The Blues patrol the surrounding area so they’re always close for emergencies or if something spills into the streets. They love picking up troopers … but if bar staff can control it and everyone is alright, they’ll just ...call the Guard so Fox can come get them. Or, you know, not always him. One of his guys will go scoop ‘em up.” 

That’s smart. 

“Oh, that’s sweet,” she says instead and enjoys how Bly’s entire body rolls with his eyes this time. 

“Yes he’s being very _sweet_ about it already…” 

Oh. 

Oh. She is going. 

Bly tries to assure her she can stay in her quarters - that he can handle it. The paperwork! Remember the paperwork! Aren’t there things to _do_?! 

But Aayla is at his heel as they enter the Senate building, and he takes it with good grace. In fact, the ride over had been ... _fun_. They’ve never been out and about together outside of work. And this is absolutely _not_ work. No. They are _on leave_ , officially speaking, and their fellow members of the 327th are not in custody of the Royal Guard ...technically speaking. 

“You’ve visited him before, haven’t you?” Aayla comments on the confident way Bly directs them through the high, arching hallways. 

Helmet tucked under his arm, he side-eyes her while simultaneously tilting his chin up with pride.

“I’ve attended to official business here, yes.” 

It’s late and quiet besides the cleaning droids, so Aayla isn’t sure who the act is for. Still, she nods despite her disbelieving grin. 

She rarely comes here, herself. She doesn’t like the _feel_ of it. A little too shadowy - as though something _lurks_. The duplicity of politics, she supposes. She shivers. 

“Cold?” Bly notices. 

Because of course he does. 

“I’m fine”

The woven poncho over her leggings is perfectly fitting for the atmo here on Coruscant. Yes her lekku are a bit chilled but, no, that’s not why she dislikes the palace. But there’s no point in getting into it now. 

“There you are you slow, dickass fuck,” a voice greets as Bly rounds the corner just ahead of Aayla. “You’re -- _oh_ ,” the complaint stops midway when Aayla appears. 

Fox - and she assumes it must be Fox who would greet Bly this way - stands rigid before them. He’s only half kitted-out so she can see he’s slighter in the hips than Bly but just as broad, if not thicker, in the chest. They have the same hair cut, interestingly enough - high and tight but clipped short enough on top that the curls aren’t obvious just now. They even both have facial hair, though Fox’s beard is straight lined and quite finely groomed. Bly's is just a prickly shadow he's neglecting because they're on leave.

Fascinating. 

“You can say what you like,” Aayla’s laugh is soft but genuine. “I enjoy inventive profanity.” 

He stares at her, then his eyes tick to his brother for confirmation...which Bly doesn’t exactly give. 

“Oh Fox is the best at that ...threats you’ve never even heard of.” 

The Guard Commander glares pure venom, but it must not be his most serious look because Bly continues to smile serenely. 

“...you’re the actual worse,” is all Fox adds to his earlier statement before pivoting on his heel. 

“That’s _not_ what he was going to say,” Bly’s whisper is staged and nowhere near the system of believable. 

Aayla pinches her smile down. She understands why the other man is hesitant around her despite any assurances from Bly; she won’t goad. Surely he trusts his brother, but ...one can never know. Besides, CC Fox spends most of his time in and around the Senate, which is full of people taken with acting more civilized than they even are. 

But for this blight on his name, Fox comes to an abrupt halt. Bly nearly bumps into his back and is therefore in striking range to take an elbow to his ribs. The hit is sharp and quick and makes Bly wheeze. 

“Shit”

“...one of your boys is threatening to,” Fox continues walking as though nothing happened. “And I promise it won’t be _me_ cleaning if he did…” 

“They wouldn’t,” Bly sounds sure, but Aayla reads a dash of concern in the downward twist of his mouth. 

Maybe he’s contemplating just who he is here to corral and tallying what he knows about each of their drunken tendencies.

Aayla crosses her fingers beneath the corner of her poncho while Fox continues to lead the way. 

Fox takes them down another domed hallway. It’s long and quiet, so they seem to have a ways to go yet. Since Bly had evidently known where he was going, it’s clear Fox had wandered out here for the chance to run his mouth...Aayla finds she’s sorry for depriving both him and Bly of that. 

Aayla reaches for Bly with the recesses of her mind. Nothing urgent or too nosey...just enough to see. His signature is as solid as usual, and though there is a twinge of annoyance there’s something bright and springy. He’s _pleased_...and she might love for their sex to claim credit for that, but the way he is looking his brother over and matching his stride suggests much of this is familial and old.

Soon enough the thick silence of the hallway is punctured by raspy, would-be whispers and ...and laughter. 

“I swear to every god in this galaxy if someone shat on my carpet…” 

“Yeah, yeah - you’ll rain down unholy hell, I’m sure…”

“No...I’ll tell all of your brothers what kind of _fuckery_ you let your clowns get up to,” Fox stops outside a nondescript door and juts his jaw out tight. 

“Well, now. They’re my clowns, too”

Aayla can’t help it. She likes this feeling coming off of Bly, there are waves of _glee_ emanating through the door, they’re on leave ...it’s all adding up to a prickling sensation of excitement. She’s happy. She feels playful. 

Bly snorts. 

Fox pauses with his hand on the door and clicks his teeth to study her. Then eyes Bly again. 

“...you two deserve each other,” he whispers in a wholly irreverent tone. 

That shuts Bly up, and she feels a fuzzy uncertainty shiver through him. His gaze rocks toward her. 

But Aayla beams.

She’s known, in some vague way, that he’d talked about her with his brothers. That he at least hinted. That they _teased_. And maybe this isn’t tacit _approval_ \- Fox’s sparkling mockery isn’t braided with a threat, but she also doesn’t know exactly how to read it; that’s a job for Bly - but it’s acknowledgment instead of outright rejection.

Which still feels important. 

“Just let us take them off your hands,” Bly settles. 

“Let? No. I’m _insisting_ you take them off my hands…” 

“Semantics” 

“Words are important, fuckwit,” Fox jabs a finger into Bly’s chest. “And to think our batch is _supposed_ to be smart …” 

He’s shaking his head as he opens the door. 

The office isn’t huge considering it’s the nervous system of the Royal Guard, but it’s spacious enough for a few desks with room to spare. Currently, some of that spare room is home to five of the 327th’s finest, all sat and huddled up in a far corner behind one particularly cluttered desk.

“Commander…” Galle’s eyes clock the opening door first. 

“General!” Ink perks up even more than his compatriot.

“Aw shit, General’s here…” a bloody-faced Zig chortles despite that his words may allege alarm. 

“What a fuckin’ mess…” Bly drawls before leading the way towards his men. 

The three senior troopers look roughed-up but all ultimately seem relieved seeing someone’s come to fetch them ...alert and curious at worst. Rally and Heave, however, pull their knees up to their chests like they are hoping to sink into the wall behind them. They are _shinier_ than the others, and Aayla feels something cool and shocky spiking off of them. Trepidation. Fear they’re about to be dressed-down. Maybe even shipped off as defective. 

And...yes, they have broken rules. That much is clear. They wouldn’t be battered and pseudo-arrested if they’d been on their behavior. Ultimately, though, they are in one piece, and they haven’t remained belligerent. Worse has certainly happened on Coruscant. 

Bly scoffs when he stops before them and stares down his nose at each one. 

Then:

“You _handcuffed_ them?” he turns an arched eyebrow to gripe at Fox. “Really?” 

“They were crawling all over each other in the transport,” the Guard Commander stays a few paces back and folds his arms over his chest. “Was the only way to settle them down for the ride.” 

“He’s a _medic_ ,” Ink shifted up onto his knees in swift defense with no mind to his inferior position. “He was just checking on us!”

It only took a light, three-fingered shove from Bly to rock the Sergeant back onto his ass. 

“You were all just fine”

“Is that your professional medical opinion, _doctor_?” Zig manages to keep his face stern while he asks but then trails off into quiet snickers. 

“Yeah...I’m sure you were doling out your very best aid,” Bly sounds stern but one corner of his mouth is quirking up just so - these men are _his_ , after all. 

The look isn’t much, but it’s enough that Ink is suddenly chortling, too. 

“Always, sir,” Zig pulls himself together long enough to affirm. 

“I think _you’re_ the one who needs a medic,” Aayla bypasses Bly’s shoulder to approach Zig and lean in to inspect his brow with light fingers. 

“Nah,” Zig presses his face into her touch. “Face wounds just bleed a lot, s’all… …”

Aayla tutts. 

“It may need stitches…” 

Zig shakes his head into her hand with very little concern, and Aayla supposes she can take his word on it for now since the gash is no longer actively bleeding. She doesn’t rush to remove her hand, however, since the medic seems to rather like it. Instead she massages her fingers in tiny little circles against his scalp and grins when he lets his head go limp into her palm with a ghost of a languid grin. 

“So,” Bly cuts in with more seriousness. “What happened boys?” 

“Pilots from the fuckin’ 13th happened,” Galle snorts from where he’s slumped against the corner. 

“ _CP_ s?” Bly scowls, and Aayla knows the new downtick in tone is disappointment. “You couldn’t just bully them by fuckin’ _size_? You had to throw fists?” 

Galle shrugs. 

Ink hustles up his shoulders again. 

“Shinies started it - they were outnumbered! We couldn’t let it stand!” 

Bly’s stern stare doesn’t falter. 

“... ...when I ask you to look out for newbies on their first leave, I mean keep them _out_ of trouble. Not get in _with_ them - I didn’t know I had to spell that the fuck out.” 

“But the flyboys were already _in it_ ,” Ink protests. 

“Uh-huh. Couldn’t help it,” Galle’s shrug is slow and sluggish with his ebbing inebriation. “You would’ve, too, if you were there…” 

Aayla watches Bly’s face do something complicated. He has never gotten himself into hot water on leave - at least not that she's heard of, though now she knows that his brother has “an arrangement” she can’t be so sure- and though she can tell he _wants_ to disagree he doesn’t. Not with words. She knows beyond a doubt that he would leap to the defense of any of his men ...and would probably start fights over it, too, if need be. 

“Alright...what do _you_ have to say for yourselves?” Bly twists towards said shinies instead since they have been much too quiet. 

Rally and Heave look at each other. 

Then at Bly. 

Then Aayla. 

...then back to Bly because even though he looks more stern apparently it’s easier to face him. It always takes new men a while to shake their extra tip-toeing around her. 

“No excuses, sir”

“None”

“Sorry, sir”

“Very sorry, sir ... _sirs_ ”

Fox snorts.

“No, no, _no_ ,” Ink isn’t getting sleepy like Galle. “Mr. High-And-Mighty-Guard owes the apology - those _pilots_ should be in here just the same as us! Huh? How about that? And _they_ attacked a medic - that’s a war crime,” he nods his head at Zig, whose shoulders tremble in a fresh fit of suppressed laughter. 

“How many times do I have to tell you, shitbrain? You weren’t in a warzone,” Fox’s sigh is deep and forlorn. 

When Aayla looks over, his head is thrown back and he is staring up at the ceiling like he is asking the Maker for assistance. Whatever his prayer, he doesn’t finds an answer because he still looks resigned when he straightens his gaze again. 

“He’s got a point, though,” Bly concedes, also staring at his brother. “Where _is_ the 13th?” 

“With _Coruscanti_ Security,” Fox sneers. “They wouldn’t fucking settle down and got booted to the street…” 

That shuts Ink up. Makes him blink in surprise. 

Bly smiles outright. 

“Well,” Aayla does, too. “Thank you for helping our lot, Commander Fox ...we’re all in your debt.”

She casts Ink _a look_. He shifts in dissonance over it, but then he huffs a sigh and nods with his chin, if not with his whole heart. 

“...thanks.” 

Zig is snickering again and Galle joins-in even though his eyes are half closed. 

“Pivot got his ass taken to the floor by a shiney _and_ he’s behind fucking bars…?” he slurs. “S’great stuff…” 

At this reminder, Zig outright cackles. 

“Oh yeah?” Bly looks to the shinies with reignited interest. 

Rally nudges Heave to indicate just who’d done so. 

“...s’nuthin,” he shrugs. “Like you said ...those shits are skinny.” 

“Still ...Pivot is no joke,” Bly doesn’t downgrade his approval. “But he’ll have it out for your ass next time he sees you boot-to-boot,” he warns because he’s a fair man. 

That has even Ink chuckling at the eventuality of round two. 

Which sets Zig off. 

Which keeps Galle going through his half-stupor. 

Heave and Rally look a little confused and stay quiet. 

Aayla tempers her own amusement and focuses on Fox again.

“We would love to take them off your hands, now, Commander”

Fox shakes his head, but apparently his exasperation is only with the soldiers’ antics because he condescends to dig a magnetic key from his belt and tosses it to Bly. 

“I’ve got it,” Aayla palms the key from him so he can have a few minutes. 

“Sir, I--”

“Can’t a General free her men?” she arches her brow at him.

“I would like freedom, General,” Ink rattles his binders with impatience. 

Agreement quickly comes from Galle. 

“Freedom’s good…” 

“Free us. Free us. Free us,” Zig starts a quiet chant, which Ink joins in without hesitation. 

Heave and Rally look alarmed. 

“S’matter - you wanna _stay_ here?” Ink cranes around Zig to mug at the newbies while he offers Aayla his wrists. “Hah! Thank you, sir!” he cheers to be the first free and shakes out his arms. 

“Yeah,” Zig leans forward so Aayla can reach around him and slide the key over his binder locks and undo the magnetic cuff. “Ya weren’t this shy when we were facing off with those fuckin’ air jockies…” 

Despite his apparent annoyance, once he’s loose Zig scoots right over to Rally to prod at his nose and ask him how it feels and whether he thinks his airflow is subpar - says he can set it even if he’s drunk, could do it in his sleep, in fact! 

“Are you with us, Galle?” Aayla crouches down beside the gunner with a warm smile. 

“ Course I am, sir,” his grin is lopsided, but the dopey contentment oozing from him tells her he’s whole-hearted about the words. “Kindda fun ...good ole fashioned fist fight. Low-stakes. Ya know?” 

Yeah. They don’t get many of those. 

“I do,” it’s trickier to get to his binders because he stays slouched against the wall. “...but I’d prefer if you could keep those to the sparring mats in the future.” 

He hums soft amusement. 

“Ain’t the same ...but’ll see what I c’n do…” 

“Appreciated,” she lets his cuffs _clank_ to the floor and sits back on her haunches. “Hold up just a bit longer,” she shakes his shoulder to rouse him, then squeezes so he knows it’s a friendly gesture. 

“Whatever you say,” he executes a lazy, if well-positioned, salute.

“Hmm...” she catches his wrist and tilts his hand, which is a little more swollen then it ought to be. “Zig, I think Galle’s your next patient.”

“On it!” Zig springs up a bit too quick, trips over his feet but doesn’t fall, and then marches over with great importance. 

“S’okay,” Galle waves said hand around at them, but even if it doesn’t hurt at the moment Aayla remains unconvinced that it won’t tomorrow. “He just had some armor on, is all…” 

She leaves him in the semi-capable hands of Zig while she approaches Rally and Heave. They are still largely quiet, so she’s able to hear Bly tell Fox that he looks “tired as hell.” He had stalked his brother over to a tidy desk against the opposite wall where Fox is now seated. She picks up something about “yeah this city never fucking sleeps” before she squats down in front of her last two convicts. 

Unlike their brethren, neither of them match her camaraderie. Can’t, it seems. 

Heave stares straight past her, over her shoulder. 

It hurts, in a way - _it always twinges_. But they’ll learn. They’ll see. 

“Alright, Heave?” 

“Yessir,” he scoots forward so she can get to his hands and leans to the side, as yet unused to being in her space like the others.

“...your face looks better than Zig’s,” she starts up. “Maybe you could teach him a thing or two…”

“Oi!” Zig protests. 

“Just lucky, sir,” Heave promises, and grumbles of agreement come from behind Aayla. 

“I doubt that”

His shoulders move in a humble shrug, and Aayla moves away once his binders open up. She shouldn’t crowd him. 

Rally’s more bashful. Everything about him feels fluttery, and he just smiles small through his discomfort when she shuffles to his side. He keeps his answers to jerky nods when she asks after his wellbeing. 

“What - tooka got your tongue?” Ink is standing under his own steam and wearing a heavy frown. “Little bit of 3-2-7 authority walks in and you go mute ...guess they must not respect _us,_ boys,” he cranes his neck towards Galle and Zig bickering behind him. 

“I for one am _very_ respectable!” Zig looks up to say, but then promptly returns to jabbing his finger in and around Galle’s face to scold him. 

“Same,” Ink nods with importance, then gazes down at the two newer brothers. “So pull it together - you’re scared of all of us or none of us.” 

“There’s nothing and _noone_ to be scared of,” Aayla amends this with a sigh. 

“So Jedi aren’t ...er,” Rally tucks his lips into a tight line to stop himself. 

There it is...

“Stars fuckin’ save us,” Ink's plea is long-suffering and he tosses his hands into the air as if there had never been a time that he’d been hesitant around her, too. “Bly! Come get our _baby_ brother. I’m waving a white flag over here…”

Aayla glances over her shoulder to see both Bly and Fox looking their way. She gives him a small shake of her head and a wink, which he grins at. 

Fox telegraphs an eyeroll so she’ll be sure to see it. 

“Quitters get demotions,” Bly throws at Ink before giving his whole attention back to Fox. 

Aayla ignores Ink’s sputtering so she can project a modicum calm and understanding at Rally. 

“...what did you want to ask, Rally?”

He makes a soft, funny sound in his throat when he hears her say his name, but he just rolls a shoulder. Won’t look at her. 

Then mumbles something. 

“Hmm?” Aayla leans in. 

“...rigid and unforgiving, they say.” 

Ah. Well. Stereotypes and all. Aayla knows the troops had been given many false impressions on Kamino...whether it was done on purpose to make them more obedient or due to an honest lack of understanding, she is sure she doesn’t want to know. She does know that Shaak Ti, now stationed on Kamino, is neither rigid nor unforgiving... but at a base of thousands of clones she can’t dispel all rumors. 

Aayla can, however. At least amongst her own men. 

“...do I look unforgiving?” 

“Answer that very carefully, _vod_ ,” Ink cautions. 

Aayla swats at his shin.

“....no sir,” Rally agrees even if he still doesn’t meet her eye. “You don’t.” 

Very good.

“Then take your brother’s cue,” she encourages with a smile. “Have a laugh … ...though under the circumstances and given certain _attitudes_ ” -- she looks to Ink again-- “I think some of us owe Commander Fox an apology.” 

“... _Zig_ was the one he had to corral,” Rally’s grin is slow in coming even after her assurances. 

“I have a duty!” Zig chimes in because he somehow overhears everything. _Always_. 

“Will his hand live to see tomorrow?” Aayla stands and casts a look at the devoted medic. 

“Course it will,” Galle nods. 

“Nah. ‘M gonna chop it off…” 

“Get fucked”

“What? Plenty of good prosthetics these days”

“Huh... ...ya think?” 

“Sure. Prime example: karking General Skywalker himself…” 

“Oh yeah. He fekking does!”

And just like that Galle sounds far too interested. Before Aayla can decide if she ought to dissuade the topic Ink twsits round to tell them they’re both utter dipshits. Which is rude but fair, and it will offer more than adequate distraction. 

Fox is sprawled a little in his seat when Aayla crosses the room and sets his key back on his desk.

“...settle a debate for us?” Bly grins happy for the intrusion. 

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Fox scowls. 

Bly plows on, anyhow. 

“He’s going grey, right?” 

Fox grumbles something that sounds suspiciously like “least favorite” while he exhales long and slow. 

And now that Bly mentions it...yes? It does look like there’s flashes of grey strands in the dark hair at Fox’s temples, but it’s a little hard to be sure with that hair being shorn tight to his scalp. He feels a bit heavy - _weary_ \- and though siding with Bly never disappoints her...Aayla finds she can’t bring herself to gang up on Fox tonight.

“I think it’s just the lighting.” 

He chuffs. 

Bly’s happy smirk tilts a fraction off its axis. 

“...and Zig’s going to perform an amputation if we don’t get moving.” 

His shoulders fall just a bit further with the weight of ridiculous he’s going to have to haul back to barracks. 

“...I can catch you for a drink tomorrow, then?” he rolls his head back to Fox.

“Uh-huh,” the other Commander perks up enough to sit forward.

“79s? At 21:00?” 

“I make it a point to _avoid_ drinking there if I can,” Fox waves the idea aside. “21:00 works but I’ll comm you an address.”

That sounds secretive and fascinating. 

Aayla makes a note to ask Bly about where they go later on.

“Thanks again, Commander Fox,” is all she says for now. 

He just shrugs. Waves a hand and “sure, sures” her right off. 

“Well, we appreciate it … ...and it was nice to meet you,” she adds with utmost sincerity before looking up to Bly and nudging his arm so Fox won’t have to respond to that. “Let’s get our clowns home…”


	2. Round Two (and three...and four, etc.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bly and Fox get that drink and do as brothers sometimes do.
> 
> Fox’s POV

* * *

**Sil’s Room** is not the height of Coruscanti drinking establishments, but it’s fine. There’s booze. It’s acceptably clean. It’s usually quiet. And no one cares if a clone walks through the front door as long as he has a few credits to fork over. 

And Fox does. 

So he will. 

It had taken him and the boys a while to nail down a few places like this to hole up in from time to time; this had been the first and has more or less remained Fox’s favorite. 

He is almost finished with his first drink when Bly arrives looking a little less than comfortable in his civvies. Fox knows those clothes must be under-utilized, a fact which makes him feel something he can’t immediately identify and therefore doesn’t examine. 

“You’re late,” he heckles his greeting. 

“Fuck you,” Bly’s retort comes preloaded at he takes a seat. “I’m on leave.”

Yeah. _As if_ that reality would make the Marshal Commander suddenly forfeit ingrained habits about structure and punctuality. No, Fox is certain Bly had arrived on time - or maybe even ahead of schedule - but then scratched the itch to case the building until he saw Fox arrive. Jokes on him, though, because Fox had been early. As per.

“Sure sure,” he says with a simple grin, and he ignores the rude gestures Bly sends him in return. 

A service droid rolls up seconds later asking to take the newest customer’s order. 

At **79s** the owners understand their main clientele prefer living, flesh-and-blood service and so have employed attractive staff of a variety of species to perform almost all interactive services. Here at **Sil’s** , the aesthetic is a more base balance of cheap but reliable. Fox enjoys the anonymity of being able to sit back and be waited on by a machine rather than feel forced to chat with whoever is tending bar, but Bly looks surprised when the bot spins over to solicit his order. 

“...uh, whatever he’s having,” he shrugs a nod across the table. 

“Very well...and another for you, sir?” the monotone droid addresses Fox

Fox nods.

“As you wish. I will be back momentarily…” 

Easy as that. No smalltalk.

“Don’t get out much?” Fox notes Bly’s lack of beverage creativity. 

“Just ain’t picky...”

Fox watches Bly shift his broad shoulders under his shirt and the way his eyes study the other patrons. 

There’s no one memorable, but he keeps silent and lets Bly conclude this for himself. Bly would have been more comfortable at **79’s** \- it was familiar territory and there would be a bar full of fellow soldiers around ...just in case. Of course he would prefer that. 

Fox, on the other hand, has done a little too much business at **79s** to enjoy it much. 

“Are _you_ here a lot, then?” 

“A lot? No,” Fox is short of a drinking problem, though some days he imagines he could really go for one. “We just see how messy 79’s can get on duty-- we prefer the other holes we’ve found.” 

“So I shouldn’t broadcast my location wide to my men?” Bly smirks. 

Oh, Fox is sure _someone_ knows his coordinates. Whether it’s one of his seconds or his cozy general. 

That’s Safety 101 in a new place, so he isn’t offended. 

“Only if you want them to find your carcass in the alley”

His brother chuckles at the protective threat but holds his hands up in innocence.

Bly still doesn’t seem at-ease when the droid drops off two fresh drinks and whirs off. He’s keeping his head on a swivel. Scanning the terrain. 

“...when’s the last time you were at a bar that wasn’t that hell-club?” 

“Outside of work?” Bly considers

Fox nods, feeling now that he knows the answer. 

Bly taps the table in front of them, “Right here. Just this once.” 

For a split moment Fox feels squirmy about that - something uncomfortable...maybe guilty. But, no. Bly _could_. It’s not against regs. Wolffe, for instance, comes here whenever he’s on leave after he'd Fox there once; he _hates_ **79s** with its loudness and dazzle.

“Why not? Other guys venture out - even your crew, probably. To skin bars, if nothing else...” 

Some of Fox’s very own men have gotten Disorderlies at a popular, lower-level skin club... not that he is going to confess their missteps to the other Commander. 

“Dunno,” Bly finally takes a sip on his whiskey. “Just never have ...I let the boys split-off to do that kind of stuff without a Commander around. You know how it is…” 

Indeed. Fox and his men are close, but there’s some things a diligent soldier won’t choose to do with their superior. 

“Plus, you have your ...well,” Fox contorts his face into something more of a leer. “What _are_ we calling General Secura?” 

Hah. There it is - 'Brickwall Bly' is _flustered_. He hides it well, but his shoulders seize, his fingers twitch on his glass, and he averts his eyes down. Just for a second, but Fox knows the signs. 

Point to him.

“We?... _we_ call her General Secura”

Aw. How precious. Fox grins despite trying to swallow it. 

“And what do _you_ call her?” 

Bly’s narrowed eyes show how little he thinks of Fox’s lilting tone. 

But he keeps stubbornly silent. 

“Ugh,” Fox’s body goes lax into his chair; he’s half-drama and half genuine disgust. “You all and your Jedi…” 

“What about it?” 

“Crossing lines, each of you ...and then insisting _everyone else_ stand on propriety.” 

“I do not,” Bly hardly moves, but his face tightens and his tone drops. 

A load of kriffing shit. Fox isn’t buying it even if he is conditioned to respond to that Command tone. 

Because he has the data on his side. He takes potshots at Generals whenever he gets the chance (behind their backs, of course, because he’s not a moron) to gauge their Commander’s reactions - so far Wolffe has been quickest to argue him down; Grey, meanwhile, has taken the longest to get over it. 

“You do,” he points a finger at his brother. “You bring her to pick up your drunk lackies, joke with her about my alleged grey hair, and wink at each other ...but then I’m curious what you might call her when you’re alone, and _I’m_ a prick all of a sudden.”

Bly hesitates, and Fox watches his face as he computes this accusation. Eventually, his shoulders slacken. 

It’s beautiful. 

Second point - Fox. 

“...you’ve always been a prick. It’s not sudden.” 

Fucker. 

...but not a liar. 

“So,” Fox moves past this slight with grace. “C’mon …you can’t give me bits and pieces and expect me not to _ask_ when I see your slimy face again.”

He’s voracious with information, a hound on the scent. 

“It’s just. Some of the others ... they don’t have to ask” 

If that’s supposed to cut, it doesn’t. Of course _Cody_ wouldn’t have to fucking ask about this razor’s edge of what is-or-isn’t becoming of an officer and his General. Ponds would be happy assuming whatever he liked, Wolffe doesn’t want to know shit about shit, and Grey...well. He has managed to remain mysterious but _yes_ Fox is going to fucking ask outright the next time the opportunity arises. 

So he waits. 

“We’re ...close,” Bly eventually gives.

“Oh? You don’t say… ...” 

Bly hides behind his whiskey briefly, which is ridiculous. At least he isn’t scrutinizing every corner of the place with suspicion, though - that’s an improvement. 

“And to think,” Fox laces his voice with wistful lament when Bly doesn’t go on. “It could have been _me_ assigned to the 327th...”

The scathing look that gets him is nothing short of rewarding. 

“It’s _not_ like that,” Bly clanks down his glass. 

Uh. Pardon? Their physical proximity and Bly’s approximate, well, _everything_ had suggested this “thing _”_ with Secura had made the tip from ‘unactionable infatuation’ to ‘ _exactly_ _like that_ ’ 

Fox is distracted from responding by the nearest service droid, who halts next to the table. It’s blank eye sockets look from Bly to the poorly-treated glass, and then back to Bly. 

Bly blinks in response. 

“We’re good here - no trouble,” Fox intervenes, for he is well aware the polite droids could double as bouncers when they perceive signs of aggression. 

“Yeah. No trouble,” Bly lets go of his tumbler altogether, appropriately chastened. 

Fox watches the droid roll off and only turns back to meet his brother’s gaze when it’s a few tables away. 

“So...it isn’t like what?” 

Bly drums his forefinger against the tabletop and mulls over his answer before giving it. 

“...interchangeable.”

That...wasn’t what he’d meant. Fox had only wanted to spark jealousy and goad something telling from the other man, but. Huh. 

That _was_ telling, wasn’t it?

“...alright.”

“Alright?” Bly sounds disbelieving.

“Yeah. You care about her - big deal. You’ve always been an idiot…”

Despite his casual shrug, Fox feels warm over the prospect. He is glad Bly’s found something that’s … ...unique. Is he sure that it’s _wise?_ Fekk no. But if it’s genuine and Bly likes it, then good for him. Whatever. They all deserve at least that fucking much.

“Thanks so much”

Mmhmm. Sure. Any time. 

But he’s not without concerns...

“So it’s not ...you know. A Jedi _trick_?” Fox can’t _not_ wonder.

“What?” Bly snorts. 

_Snorts_. Right in front of Fox’s face. Pff. Fine. So much for bonds of brotherhood. 

“You heard me”

“They aren’t that way. Well…” a dark look ripples over Bly’s face. “Most of them aren’t like that. You don’t get it.”

Fox chuffs once more. 

“Can’t help it. No one gave me a Jedi to babysit.” 

And, for the record, Fox is perfectly happy for that. Plenty of Jedi pass in and out of the Senate, sure, but the occasional interaction is enough. Quinlan Vos has skated through and requested assistance from a Guard once or twice, and that man was fucking chaos walking. No. Miss him with that, thank you very much. 

It’s true that his brothers are fond of theirs... and while that fact doesn’t make him jealous, he can’t say isn't curious.

“And in their place you get a gaggle of senators”

Fox’s eyes roll. It’s reflex and cannot be helped -- oops. Pardon him. 

“What? Not interesting?”

“Eh. There’s plenty of assassination threats and kidnapping attempts to interrupt - I wouldn't call that part boring,” Fox spins his glass on the tabletop. 

When he first arrived on Coruscant he’d rued his diligence and compliance to authority on Kamino - could he have been a little more creative like Ponds? Or bold like Cody? Maybe a touch stubborn like Bly? Could some small but pivotal self-sabotage have landed him a more traditional command where he’d be using his training on the front lines and camping down with other battalions? No one had dragged him for it - it was a compliment, they said - but he hadn’t _wanted_ to be held apart …

Folly, he knows now. 

He is where he is, and he has what he has: a planet-side assignment, often doing work one might fairly say is below their training ...but _someone_ has to do it. He’s engineered a well-oiled machine of the Royal Guard by now, so he has that. If his command is smaller than most then he just regards his fellow Guards all the closer for it. 

Besides, by this point he’s found that Coruscant has its own perks... 

“Direct protection of the Republic,” Bly nods. “Even the Chancellor...unless your reports are embellished”

Fox should be scoffing at the prospect of fabricating reports (creative license? Sure. Lies? Negative.) but he’s too busy trying to act like his spine hadn't gone tight. He should be languid and careless - he _had been._ But _..._

“Don’t like him?” Bly reads him and smirks. 

An oversimplification if he’s ever heard one. Because, for no specific reason he can get a thumb on, he does _not_ like that man. It isn’t as though the Chancellor has threatened him - he’d prefer it if he had. Fox knows what to do with a threat; he handles them on the regular. Palpatine is just … something else. 

The old man is nice enough, in his way. Calculating, yes, but that’s something Fox can relate to. Something he _should_ appreciate…but he decidedly does not. 

And it’s not an authority issue, either - Fox has been operating with a chain of command around him all his life, so that is as natural as breathing. Even as a wee cadet, the presence of superiors hadn’t trickled ice down his spine to settle in his gut. Or given him headaches. Or made him doubt...

“Not the way you like your great Superior, no,” he dismisses, clearing his throat. 

As he raises his glass he can see Bly watching him, so he stretches his sip into a proper drag of the burning liquid to buy time.

“What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing”

“Fox?”

“Bly”

“...I’ll message the others.” 

“You won’t”

But, just in case, Fox estimates the best angle to tackle Bly in their current positions and how to wrest his wrist comm from him if he tries to send said message. No, scratch that...better to just bust the comm altogether before the service droids descend to pull them apart and drag them outside.

“Then what’s the attitude for?” Bly doesn’t sound upset, only troubled. 

“I’m just a prick, or so you say…” 

“But you’re usually a _calm_ one,” Bly’s eyes rove him. “You look ready for a fight. What’s the Chancellor’s deal?” 

Stubborn _and_ perceptive. Fox can only respect that, but Bly is still his least favorite brother. Without a doubt. 

“No deal”

Even here, where there’s no one of note to be seen, he won’t speak his unease out loud. Not anywhere. He and Thorn have a sort of understanding about it - a knowing look or stunted sigh when they have to head Palpatine’s way - but, no ...they don’t talk about it. 

For ...reasons. 

Reasons he doesn’t quite know. 

“You’re so full of shit”

Bly’s brows are tilting out in concern, now, and fuck but maybe he _will_ off and rat him out to the rest of the Batch. Then they’ll pester when they’re planet-side here. He’ll need to avoid them, which he doesn’t want. He’ll need to find a new favorite watering hole, too, which he also doesn’t fancy. 

So...half-truths it is: 

“Some of the protection details for him ...they’ve been intense. They haven’t all gone well…” 

Not a lie. 

And it works. Some of the tension seeps from Bly’s neck, and his face eases before he facilitates a retreat. 

“I hear you there… ...we don’t even need to talk about work…”

Funny thing to say since work is essentially their lives. 

But Bly does have some good stories about distant planets. Technically that _is_ work, but he skips battles stories and sticks to the men and side nonsense and, _yes_ , Secura. 

“Can’t help it,” Bly shrugs when Fox points out the habit of mentioning her after another round. “She’s part of the stories ...she’s not distant like they always taught us. She wants to _know_ people.” 

“Mmm”

Yes, Fox supposes she’d seemed attuned to the others in a way that didn’t align with everything they’d been told on Kamino. None of Jedi did, it seems - each in their own way.

“...and I _like_ talking about her,” Bly tacks on for fairness once he takes a reflexive look around to ensure privacy. “You’ll understand one day, _little brother_.” 

Fuck’s sake. Little? Bly had no proof - _absolutely none_ \- that he was decanted first. And maybe he’s hit the gym and packed-in another pound or two since Fox had last seen him, but he’s not cowed. In fact, he wishes they were in the barrack’s training room right now to prove it... 

But he stays cool. Doesn’t rise. This isn’t the place for those kinds of challenges. 

“I know all about how appealing pleasure is, _thanks_ ”

If he thought Bly would bristle at the minimization and spill more assurances that his connection to the Jedi was untoward but not unfair, Fox is sorely disappointed. In fact, Bly gets a glint in his eye and leans in. 

“Oh yeah?” 

Gossip. And he thinks _he’s_ the elder _?_ Then again, the way Fox smirks in return is perhaps not the epitome of maturity either. 

“Of course” 

“... ...skin bars?” Bly recalls with a tilt of his head. 

Fox’s face flickers briefly. Yes, he’s visited...but riveting as the visuals may be the overall atmosphere isn’t to his tastes. 

So he shakes his head. 

“...one of your guys?” 

That’s not frowned upon, exactly, but it’s complicated given his Command status. 

“No”

“...someone here?” Bly grins and looks around, eager. 

Hah - had Bly actually looked around properly?

“Hardly”

Which, to be fair, is partially false. She’s been here - he’d even been the one to invite her. He hadn’t actually expected her to show, but- _hey_ \- she’s been a surprise more than once.

“Hardly…” Bly echoes, trailing off to do some mental math. “A senator?”

“Ah. _No_ ,” Fox emphasizes, then adds: “Closer, though.” 

He figures he ought to steer Bly a bit so it’s clear he’s not pursuing a senator. What Fox is doing wouldn’t be met with top-to-bottom approval, but, not for nothing, he isn’t courting disaster as acutely as Bly or Cody.

Bly puzzles over that before grinning. 

“Bodyguard?” 

That would fit, wouldn’t it?

“No”

“Well, shit. I don’t know who else works there,” Bly sighs in resignation. “A cleaning droid?” 

“Oh, yes,” Fox’s nod is solemn. “The vac attachments give a new meaning to ‘suck job’...” 

Bly laughs outright at whatever visual he’s conjured up in reaction to that. Pleased, Fox joins him. Reminds himself that he’s lucky to see his brothers when they’re on leave and a notch or two more relaxed than average. 

“So. Who are they?” 

Fox rather likes knowing things others don’t, and yet he finds himself answering anyway. 

“She’s a legislative aide”

Bly hesitates. 

“...that means nothing to me”

Fair enough.

“Research, drafting policy...input on speeches”

Bly cringes with disgust or boredom, it’s hard to tell. It probably doesn’t matter.

“The shit I pick up around there…” 

“Civilians”

They snicker together again even though there are some very real reasons it’s not funny at all. 

“But _you_ picked one,” Bly calls Fox out for his mocking. 

Picked? ‘ _Picked_ ’ sounds entirely too purposeful, so he tells Bly so ...and he immediately hates the shitty grin he gets in return. 

“What?” he snaps. 

“Nothing...”

“I don’t trust you.” 

“Liar”

Touche. 

“Fine. I don’t trust all _this_ ,” he gestures at Bly’s face in general. 

Bly laughs some more, and this time Fox does not appreciate it or join. 

“Tell me about her”

“...no.”

Absolutely not. Clownbastard has mischief written all over him. 

Fox is on guard. 

“Why not? Reciprocity is fair play ...and you like this girl”

First of all - Fox doesn’t play _fair_ , he plays to win. Secondly, fuck reciprocity. He’d told Bly - albeit vaguely - who she is; that’s more than he’d needed to say. He’d originally just meant to point out that he, too, got laid and Bly could calm down about himself.

The conversation’s gotten away from him and he’s not even sure precisely how. 

“I do not”

Bly rose an eyebrow high. 

“Then why are you talking about her?” 

“ _You’re_ talking about her”

Maker, now he just sounds petulant. 

He sighs. 

Bly takes it as defeat and strikes in the most sing-song, too-innocent voice known to man or foreign species. 

“ _How’d you meet_?” 

This is his punishment for negligence. 

“You have to ask _that_?” 

Cue an eye roll from Bly, and at least that’s comforting and as it should be. 

“At the Senate building, I’m sure.Was she also drunk and handcuffed in your office? That seems to be how you make new friends” 

Fox scoffs because she isn’t so careless ...yet there is something alluring he might have to explore about the idea of her in handcuffs...

“No. _She’s_ not an imbecile,” he tries to push back and make Bly protective of his boys. 

But he seems to think their drunken shenanigans deserve the knock because he dodges and returns fire easily. 

“Defensive, are we?” Bly wiggles two fingers at the passing service droid to get another round started...a thing Fox either needs very much or not at all. “So? Go on.We agreed on non-work gossip. Who warmed your cold heart?” he smirks pure evil.

_Heart_? 

Who said heart? 

It’s clear Bly has gone soft to a disturbing degree.Perhaps it’s Fox who needs to appeal to the Batch comm chat out of concern. 

“No one,” he sits straighter. “I met her by pissing her off.” 

“Oh... _that_ tracks.” 

Fox makes a show of preening at that pronouncement. 

“And?” 

“And what?” 

“...how’d you piss her off? How’d you turn it around?” 

_Stars_. 

“I stepped-in on an argument outside the Senate chambers -- she took offense”

‘Argument’ is still a downgrade in his opinion, but that is how she tells the story. And he knows _\- knows -_ she’d been grateful despite whatever resentment she’d felt for needing a hand. She still won’t cop to it, but she does grin and can’t quite meet his eye when she reminds him he should’ve fucked off that morning. 

“Ah. A Knight in Shining Plastoid...”

Force.

“My life is _not_ a holo-drama”

“Kindda sounds like it...a sappy romantic one”

Fox could get away with murder if he tried - he’s quite certain. Familialcide is a no-no, but he has the brains to pull off a frame job…

“Pull that stick out of your ass,” Bly interrupts his planning. “I answered your questions”

“Because you _wanted_ to”

Bly had been hinting and tapping at his opinions of one Aayla Secura for ages. He’d only gone a bit quiet on the topics once something actually started _happening_ , which had given him away straight off. Cody had done the (unnecessary) job of confirming.

Fox, on the other hand, has not been flashing around his extracurriculars in group conversation. _He_ is not a dopey-eyed lover. He’s …

Well, he doesn’t know what she is, truth be told. 

He eyes Bly. Wonders if he should talk it out. Even if he _did_ know the best person to snitch to in order to make waves, Bly would never even consider doing it. 

No. 

Not his business. 

Fox will figure it out his damn self. 

Not that there’s anything to figure out. 

It just ...is.

Why is Bly’s smirking again? 

Shit. Fox had gone quiet too long. Fuck - hadn’t he been winning this conversation earlier? 

“Fuck off”

Bly laughs another belly laugh. 

It's absolutely not a comforting sound, and F ox absolutely doesn’t grin hearing it. 

Just as the service droid brings the next (and what should probably be the last) round, Fox spots a glimpse of an all-too-familiar profile entering through the front. 

Then a second and third. 

For a split moment he thinks Bly had sent his location to his own crew after all just to be a shit, but then he catches sight of the hatched tattoo snaking down the leader’s arm when he raises a wave 

“That’s Thorn,” he tells Bly, who had also clocked the trio. 

“He's your second, right?” 

“Mmhmm,” both men watch Thorn place an order at the bar with the other two and then saunter their way. 

He throws a mock-salute to Fox.

“Evening…” his nod to Bly is friendly, but his eyes are searching. 

“Bly,” Fox gestures. “Command of the 327th”

“Right. I’ve heard the name,” Thorn juts out a hand that Bly takes with ease. “How long are you on leave?”

“Couple weeks”

“Welcome to our hidey hole ...you two having an official meeting?” He looks round to his own Commander before gesturing to the other two still waiting by the bar. “Or can we make intrusions of ourselves?” 

Fox glances to Bly. 

“More the merrier ...unless you’re sick of his ugly mug,” Bly leaves the decision in Fox’s hands. 

“Nah,” Fox nudges out a chair with his foot. “Join in.” 

Thorn rubs his hands together in a way that suggests trouble and hustles back to the bar with this news. Fox crosses his fingers that Secura won't have to come pick-up Bly this time... ...

“These guys gonna be able to give me proper recon on your girl?” Bly twist a smirk of fuckery Fox’s way. 

“Absolutely not”

Thorn does, in fact, know about her, but he also knows it would be a slow and painful death for him to share such intel. Fox has too much shit on his right-hand man to be fucked with. 

“I’m kidding”

Yes. Sure. Hilarious. 

Fox watches Thorn speak with the service droid again after he, Hound, and Scoot received their drinks, and he sighs. 

So much for working on their last round. 

Bly claps his shoulder warmly, and he supposes it’s not so bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I now want to write a short fic about Fox? Yes. Will I? ...I mean, I put nothing past myself. 
> 
> Take care out there, everyone!
> 
> https://its-alltheway.tumblr.com/

**Author's Note:**

> Got a CloneWars series going now. It is what it is <3
> 
> And I’m over here sometimes: https://its-alltheway.tumblr.com/


End file.
